Thursday, June 18, 2015

I detected a shrill airborne commotion in the backyard, a
dozen birds raising an “alarum” that someone with a short attention span might’ve
characterized as a “peep show” but in reality involved an extended family of
considerably distraught cactus wrens. A few beats later, my dog, The Reverend,
appeared at my side, while I typed very important sentences into my computer.
He stood there, breathing, which made me look. There, in his mouth, squirmed a
cactus wren, bearing an electric expression like, “Get me outta here, Bud!” I
produced a baseball cap, upside down, and asked The Reverend to deposit the
cactus wren into the bowl of the cap, and he complied. Then, I took the cap
outside where I repatriated the bird onto a low branch of the honey locust that
grew across the fence from the property beside a neighbor’s shack. The cactus
wren, still stunned, hopped around amid the great cacophony of his kind, no
telling whether the chime of wrens still whistled over the initial loss of
their mate or whether the chime of wrens whistled in identical hysterics upon
his rejoining the herd, but he hopped around and the chime chimed wildly. (“Alarum”
and “great relief” as equals.) At first, The Reverend cocked his head in
disbelief, the same erect-ear, one-fang, misty face he’d made, once, when he
encountered the cerebral music of a turtle flute, but eventually he drifted
around, as aloof as possible, after I’d disappointed him once again in his
gift-giving. When I’d had enough of his demonstration of aloofness, I sliced up
some “training salami” and made him cycle through his tricks, including the
irresistible trot around and be handsome as hell. I wondered if The Reverend
and I were being too provincial in our navigation of the elements, such as
cactus wrens, that governed our environment. I didn’t know anyone named Vince
so I couldn’t profess to be pro-Vince, or for that matter, con-Vince, since I
certainly didn’t know a Vince who might be kept under lock and key. I concluded
that, if your shoe size is large, you will encounter a future of no small
feats.

The lizard occupied a cupboard for a couple weeks. Every
time I opened the door, I found him clinging to the wall, flicking his tongue
above the dusty sack of green-and-yellow split peas. If he moved overnight,
while I slept, he’d returned to his post before I groggily reached for honey
nut cereal the next morning. His eyes rolled around googly but he wouldn’t dart
off, perhaps thinking himself invisible. As far as lizards go, I wouldn’t have
described him as gigantic, although big enough that I remarked to myself “Nah”
when considering a shock move to eject him manually. My dog, The Reverend, had brought
him to me, as a gift. I kept the back door ajar in summer as the swamp cooler wouldn’t
function without a source of air; the door ajar enabled The Reverend to frequent
the fenced-in yard, as a dog of his namesake saw fit. He arrived at my chair,
while I typed very important sentences into my computer, with the lizard in his
mouth. The lizard looked up at me with an electric expression like, “Get me
outta here, Bud!” I asked The Reverend to drop him, a request that he honored,
but when the lizard scampered away—first to the closet, then to the bathroom,
then to the ceiling—The Reverend ignored me with enviable disassociation until
I began to fry turkey burgers on the crumbling backyard grill. He and I sat
together munching burgers, while hornworms (unbeknownst to us) munched the
sweltering tomato plants in late afternoon shade. I un-bottle-capped a beer,
one that The Reverend projected little interest in, before he laid his muzzle
across my feet. The two of us, two men of the world, weltered in place. I
experienced great wonderment at that juncture. People labor for decades before
they re-tire, I noted; it seems like quite a long time before changing radials.
The Direction of Man, I lectured The Reverend, in my philosopher-king voice, is
either north-northwest or north-northeast, depending on whether he is left or
right-handed: it has nothing to do with the Coriolis Effect. Time is both
servant and oppressor, I added, damn its dispassionate reports!

APPEARANCES WITH HETERODYNE IMPROVISATIONAL MUSIC PROJECT

I have appeared several times (as “Words”) with the Heterodyne improvisational music project, which is led by Maria Shesiuk and Ted Zook. Other performers have included Sarah Hughes, Leah Gage, Doug Kallmeyer, Bob Boilen, Sam Lohman, Amanda Huron, and Patrick Whitehead. Here are three free sample recordings, each about 30 minutes long, available on Soundcloud: